


Escape Clause

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: satedan_grabass, Hurt/Comfort, John Sheppard Needs a Hug, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard is in medical .... again. He's determined to find a way out, preferably involving Ronon Dex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape Clause

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelus2hot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelus2hot/gifts).



> For angelus2hot for the Satedan_grabass ficathon. I hope you enjoy this little story!

John Sheppard is in Medical … again. 

It had just been a shit mission, on a planet where the Wraith supposedly had no presence. It had ended unfortunately when John had been hit by a stunner and fell, hitting his head on a rock. Sure it had knocked him out, but he was fine, really. And he hates being stuck in medical with bad food, no company, and doctors frowning at him. It was worse when it was Jennifer Keller, who looks so disappointed, as if the concussion is _his_ fault and not a random accident. 

"C'mon, Doc. Let me out. I'm fine. Not even a headache." That was a lie, but John wasn't about to spend another night in the med bay if he had any say in it. "It's not like I was shot or anything." He sounds like he's whining, but he tries to bluff his way out of it by giving her the patented John Sheppard sad eyes.

"You have a concussion. You were unconscious for three hours!" Jennifer Keller raises her brow at him. "You aren't getting out of here tonight. At least you don't have to be checked every two hours any more. Get some rest."

John falls back and tries to hide the wince when his head hits the pillows. "Can I have visitors?"

She sighs. "Yes, as long as you don't ask them to drag you out of here."

"Me? Never."

She just snorts, takes out his IV and leaves, because she's new enough not to know that he won't keep his promise to be well-behaved and malleable. He puts on a good show; closing his eyes and nestling down in the pillows. He yawns and despite his determination to get out of here, decides a short nap won't hurt. 

He wakes up hours later. The lights have been dimmed, which means it's night. He's starving and the thought of the food they serve in medical isn't appealing. They'll bring blue jello. Truly, Lorne is the only person, besides Rodney, who considers blue jello to resemble food. He sees his com on the bedside table and reaches for it. He fits it in his ear and waits for the connection to beep. 

"Ronon? Hey, Ronon, are you up?"

"I wasn't." Ronon sounds grumpy and his voice has that gravelly edge that gives John a chill up his spine. "Am now."

"I'm starving. How about bringing me some food?"

Ronon sighs, and John hears the rustle of bedding as he sits up. "What do you want?"

"Pizza?"

"I can get frozen from the galley."

"No peppers or anchovies."

Ronon sighs and John hears him pulling on his clothes. The vision of Ronon, naked, comes into John's mind and the chill from his spine turns to heat. "Hurry up. I might fade away."

Ronon laughs — the sound intimate in his earpiece — and the shivers come back. Maybe he is sick. Chills and fever? "Right. See you in a few, buddy."

Ronon, for all of his Satedan upbringing, has adapted English slang with almost alarming rapidity, not that John ever thought he wasn't smart. A lot of people looked at those muscles and the big gun he wore on his hip and figured he wasn't more than a grunt. 

John sighs, calculating the time it would take to get to the mess and from there to medical. Now that he's untethered from the IV, he can get up. He sits upright, ignoring the way the room still wavers in his vision. He's dizzy and weak from hunger, that's all. He stands slowly and shuffles uncertainly to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror is haggard and unshaven. His hair is worse than usual, cowlicks in every direction. He looks like a derelict. Nothing he can do about that until morning. He starts back towards the bed. He grabs the partition before the floor goes out from under him. _Whoa_! He hadn't expected that. He's about to start moving again when Ronon suddenly appears around the corner, a plate in hand. He deftly sets the plate on the bedside table and wraps his arm around John's waist. Somehow, he manages to slip his palm between the gown ties. His wide, warm palm spans John's back as he guides him over to the bed.

"You know, that's not fair," John says. 

"What?"

"Feeling me up when I'm in this fragile state."

Ronon snorts. "I _can_ take the pizza back. Or stop by to see McKay on the way to the mess."

"That's just cruel."

Ronon leans in and whispers."I'll do it if you don't get back into bed." 

John shivers. Those damn chills. Ronon feels the faint shudder and practically lifts him onto the bed, pulling up the blankets. He takes the lid off the box, releasing an aroma of tomatoes, oregano and pepperoni. John looks at him. "Frozen?"

"Mostly."

"So, you chatted up Nixey?"

"I was _nice_ to her."

Nixey is the night chef, and Sheppard wouldn't want to meet her in a dark alley, not with knife skills like hers. He's seen her filet a fish and it was damn scary. "Thanks."

"Welcome. If you're really grateful, you'd share."

John shoves the box over. "One piece."

Ronon takes a seat in the ridiculous bedside chair, perching there uncomfortably. John rolls his eyes and moves over. "You might as well be comfortable."

Ronon eyes the bed like it's about to sprout thorns, but he settles on the bed, his long legs stretched out next to John's, his arm around John's shoulder as they eat. "You know what we need?" Ronon asks. "Ale. Athosian ale."

John tilts his head ruefully. "Good luck sneaking that past Keller and her cohorts."

Ronon just raises a brow and digs into his pocket, taking out a small hip-flask. "You on any drugs?"

"No."

"Here." 

John takes a sip of the liquor. It's not ale. It's more like brandy. "Where'd you get this?"

"Teyla. She says it's good for aches and pains."

"Well, I've got those." He takes another small sip, but he's not stupid enough to think that Keller won't seen something in his blood work that will rat him out. 

Ronon takes another sip and yawns, stowing the flask away. "Had enough?"

"Of pizza and brandy, yes. Of you … no." He takes hold of Ronon's collar and pulls him in for a kiss. "Stay for a while?"

Ronon shrugs. "You need to sleep."

"I sleep better when you're here."

"Bed is too small." Ronon grumbles. 

John tips his head back and looks at Ronon. The angle of his jaw is tempting as is the pulse point right below it. The tattoo is exotic against his golden skin. John presses his lips to the ink. "Your bed is bigger."

"You're in medical. I don't think you've got in and out permission."

"Hey, I'm an adult. There's an escape clause."

"What?"

"An agreement to get out of a bad contract." Ronon raises a brow, and John gives him a one-sided smile. "One of the perks of having a brother with a law degree who specializes in contracts. Dave used to recite his textbook out loud when he was in law school."

"Why?"

"To help him remember. Some of it stuck in my brain."

"So, escape clause?"

"Being an adult, I can sign myself out of medical. I've done it before."

"Yeah, when the city was about to blow up or something."

"I think this counts as 'something'. They want me to sleep. I can't do it in here. So, I'm going to sign myself out and you and I are going to sleep."

"So, I'm your escape clause?"

"If I stop breathing you can carry me back here and I'll let Keller read me the riot act. _Te absolvo._ "

"I have no idea what that means," Ronon growls. Clearly, he thinks this is one of John's half-assed plans that somehow end up going way wrong. 

"It means that no matter what happens, you're off the hook. I'll even write that in the escape clause."

"I'm not carrying you out of here. You want out, you can walk. If you can't, you stay."

"Deal. Get a nurse. Tell'em I need an AMA form." 

Ronon glowers at him, but he goes in search of a nurse. John manages to pilfer a set of scrubs from the cart outside his cubicle and change into them. They're not exactly warm, but at least there's no draft on his backside. He's still wearing those stupid sock things with rubber nubs on the bottom to keep people from skidding across the floor. Officially, he hates those things. They don't keep your feet warm. 

Ronon returns with a nurse following behind him. She puts her arms on her hips. "You ain't checking out of here, Colonel. Not without Dr. Keller's okay."

"I'm leaving against medical advice, but I'm not stupid or so concussed that I don't know what I'm doing. I'm fine. My balance is good (that's kind of a lie), and I'm not going to be alone." (He'll be in bed with Ronon, but that falls under TMI). He adds, pressing his advantage. "I outrank you, so you can tell Dr. Keller that I pulled rank on you." He softens it with a charming smile, and he can hear Ronon trying to suppress a laugh. 

The nurse thrusts a clipboard at him. "Sign, and then get out of here before one of the doctors decides to shoot you full of sedatives and put you back into bed."

John gives Ronon a triumphant look and signs with a flourish. "Ready?"

"You're sure about this?"

"Yes! I'm fine. I want to sleep and I can't do it here." The challenge will be to walk out of there in a straight line. He only has to walk to the end of the corridor, then he can lean against Ronon. 

They walk side by side down the corridor, and if John's shoulder brushes Ronon's, the halls are quiet enough that it doesn't matter. Finally, they're at Ronon's quarters. The doors open and John steps inside. Ronon takes his shoulders in his big, warm hands. He guides John to the bed. "Don't move," he orders.

He gets two bottles of water, cracks one open and hands it to John. "Drink. You need it."

John sips at it, then drains it as his thirst catches up to his brain. He watches as Ronon strips off his leathers and pulls on a pair of sleep pants. He gets into bed and wraps John in his arms. They are silent for a few minutes before Ronon asks, "Warm enough?"

"I was promised Athosian Ale. I think that's a violation of our contract."

Ronon's laugh rumbles comfortingly against his ear. "Don't look for an escape clause, Sheppard. There isn't one."

"Who said I wanted to escape?" John pulls on Ronon's dreads, bringing him closer for a kiss. "I like it here just fine." After a moment, he takes a breath and adds, "You know I love you, right? And not because you got me out of medical." He nuzzles against Ronon's neck, breathing in his scent."If I had the energy, I'd prove it, too." 

"We'll have time. Go to sleep." Ronon's voice is drowsy and content. John listens as his breath slows and deepens before he follows Ronon down to sleep.

**The End**


End file.
